Absentmindedness
by Aphelionite
Summary: Grief and a wishful memory combine as Minerva McGonagall tries to accustom herself to a different world. A world without Albus Dumbledore. Set after HBP. Oneshot.


_Finally posted this under my own penname, unfortunately this means all the reviews will be lost – I have however posted thanks to all those lovely people who reviewed at the end of the fic._

**Absentmindedness Makes the Heart Berate Itself**

_By Aphelion_

The school was finally quiet; the students had gone home that afternoon on the Hogwarts Express after paying their last respects to Professor Dumbledore, while the myriad witches and wizards who'd poured into Hogsmeade for the service were no doubt the cause of a roaring trade in the Three Broomsticks and Hog's Head tonight. Of course Madam Rosmerta was no longer tending bar at the former but occupying a bed in the secure unit of St Mungo's.

Hogwarts' new headmistress sighed deeply; gazing out of her office window towards the lake, for there stood the gleaming white tomb, reflecting in the glassy water. She fished a handkerchief out of her pocket, blowing her nose. She looked tired, tendrils of black hair creeping loose about her face and neck with dark circles under her puffy red eyes, no doubt due to the fact that she hadn't slept more than two hours together since that night. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him, spread eagled, broken on the grass at the foot of the tower, his light cruelly extinguished. She shook her head trying to dislodge the image but another was waiting to take its place. Hagrid had moved the Headmaster to a private room in the infirmary for 'safekeeping' until the funeral. Of course the Minister for Magic had insisted on going there, seeing was believing after all. Minerva had stood transfixed long after everyone else had left and when she had lain her hand over his it was so _cold,_ so… _dead._ She almost lost her mind right then and there. For a moment she could not, would not, understand how it could be so and even went so far as to pull out her wand to mutter 'rennervate' before she managed to get a grip on herself. The school needed her. Albus would not want her to fall apart.

She had never known a Hogwarts without Dumbledore. No matter what happened he had always returned to these hallowed halls of learning with a story to tell and a twinkle in his eye.

Never again.

She sat, not in the headmistress's chair but in the seat facing the new portrait over the desk. She looked, teary-eyed, into the twinkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore. Her employer, her friend and so much more she couldn't put into such simple words. 'I miss you.'

'I know.' He answered knowingly, not without some small amount of sympathy.

'How am I to fill your shoes? How could anyone?' she asked twisting her handkerchief in her lap, though her bleeding heart was asking the much more painful question of _how am I to do this without you?_

Dumbledore smiled, 'Minerva, you are a great witch and truly the finest teacher I have ever known. I cannot think of a more worthy successor.'

She sniffed and dropped her gaze to the desktop. These words at any other time would have filled her will confidence, buoyed up by the warm glow that was his belief in her… but this was not any other time. Albus chuckled and her eyes darted back to his portrait. 'I fail to see what is so amusing!' she snapped, angry that he could make fun of her at such a time, a surge of anger that momentarily suspended her exhaustion.

'Ah forgive me, Minerva,' he begged, penitently, 'I am simply remembering a young witch I hired, some years ago now. She'd never taught a day in her life and spent the best part of two weeks sick with nerves – she too did not think she was up to the job. It took me some time to convince her that she really had been the best candidate.' He raised his eyebrows slightly at her with a look of annoying confidence.

'Time and many mugs of hot chocolate,' she said, gifting him a grudging smile, 'as I remember it.'

'Yes.' He chuckled again. 'As I recall, you were quite fond of chocolate.'

'Yes, though I shall never again make the mistake of saying "Accio chocolate" in a pantry the size of Salisbury cathedral.'

'You did make rather a mess of yourself.' He laughed quietly to himself, seeing once more a scene tucked long ago into that part of his memory that was solely dedicated to her.

'So would you if you were buried under half a ton of chocolate icing and the like!' she laughed miserably, half-heartedly perhaps, but she laughed, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, blushing slightly at the recollection of making such an ass of herself in front of the prodigiously skilled headmaster. 'Still, it was worth it for the hot chocolate.' Her eyelids drooped a little, warmed as she was by the flickering fire; she let her head rest for the moment against the top of the high-backed chair. Even in summer the ancient castle could not be considered balmy and the gentle crackle of the logs in the hearth soothed the ache in her weary bones. 'I see you made sure your sweet-tooth was well provided for.'

He looked down at the small table painted beside his comfortable armchair, sat upon which was a bowl of sherbet lemons. 'Naturally.' He nodded.

'I wish I'd never introduced you to the things.' She said, rubbing her eyes.

'Surely not!' he said in tones of shock.

'I think the staff would have been happier had they not been force-fed them at every meeting.' She accused with a minute shake of the head.

'How was I to keep my captive audience if it wasn't for the fact that it's rude to talk with one's mouth full?'

'Which you never failed to take advantage of when you and I were mid-argument and you were losing.' She charged, closing her eyes for a moment, just a moment. 'Plying me with anything that might keep me quiet.' She muttered.

'Not losing,' he frowned, 'simply taking time to compose an adequate response…'

'You tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.' She said with a smug smile. It was so pleasant to hear his voice, bathe in that dulcet baritone…

'It is not about making me feel better; it is simply a statement of fact.' He corrected.

She opened her eyes to shoot him a skeptical look, 'I'm afraid to say that in this instance you've got your facts wrong, Albus.'

'And you were never afraid to tell me when I was wrong, were you?'

'Well someone had to; it does your ego good to be deflated once in a while.' She said with an air of righteousness as her eyes drifted shut again.

'A job you enjoyed far too well.'

A small smile tugged at her lips, 'Yes, well, it isn't everyone who has the chance of tweaking the most powerful wizard in the world.'

'Am I detecting a little ego of your own, Minerva?' he asked slyly.

'Pride is not ego, as well you know.' She yawned, voice slurred slightly with fatigue, 'If I _did_ puncture your ego from time to time it is only because you respected my opinion and why should I not take pride in that?'

'Indeed you have been a valued confidante these forty years.'

'And yet you never saw fit to confide in me the knowledge which you know I sought above all else from our first midnight meeting.' She could well imagine the look of confusion on his face and almost laughed out loud. 'Do you not think it is time you gave me your hot chocolate recipe?' she asked, thinking back on the many nights of chess and chocolate they had shared during her first year of teaching at Hogwarts with a bittersweet smile.

'Impossible! It is the Dumbledore family's most secret, secret recipe!' he answered in mock indignation, shaking a long crooked finger at her, though she did not see.

She shook her head lazily. 'Are you so determined to take it with you to the –' she pulled up short, bone white fingers clenching on the arms of her chair and both eyes wide open as the images of a broken body, a cold, dead hand and great, white tomb leapt unbidden into her mind's eye, flooding her consciousness in a crashing wave of cold reality. 'Albus…' she whispered, getting to her feet and turning her back on the painting, one trembling hand pressed over her mouth. What was she _thinking? Foolish _woman. Sitting here reminiscing with a _picture_ as though it were really _him_, forgetting for a moment that he was gone. Was she to become as addlebrained as the traitorous house-elf, Kreacher? No. Unfortunately her sanity was not that far gone; she knew with terrible certainty that Albus Dumbledore – the _real _Albus Dumbledore - was cold in his grave not sat in this office giving her a pep talk and arguing over a recipe for hot chocolate!

At that moment the portrait wanted nothing more than to break free of his gilded frame, rush across the room and put his arms around her quivering shoulders. 'Minerva…' he murmured. But she ignored his pained voice; reaching the door in three long strides she flung it open and disappeared down the staircase.

She barely knew where she was going, following her feet past portrait after portrait and shifting, clanking suits of armour. When Mrs. Norris shot under her feet at the top of one of the castle's many staircases she aimed a kick at the mangy cat with unwonted venom, sending it scuttling for cover behind a bust of Derwent the Diligent. Finally she reached the entrance hall, pulled one of the great oak doors open and stepped out into the cool, darkening grounds trembling from head to foot and fighting to keep down the little food she had managed to force past that perpetual lump in her throat.

She stood for a long moment on the stone steps taking deep, calming breaths, tears threatening with every drumbeat of her heart. So stupid to feel guilty over a moment's forgetfulness, a moment in which he was with her again, a voice in a dark room filled with the scent of him. She looked out over the Dark Forest and restful mountains, wisps of clouds on the horizon stained pink and gold, and finally, unwillingly, her gaze drifted once more to the fathomless inky lake.

At length she began the long walk down the gently sloping lawn though her feet seemed to be in two minds and more than once she found herself turning on the spot as if to return to the castle. The closer she got, the more her chest seemed to throb with that awful aching abyss of grief.

Standing beside the sepulcher, blue-grey in the dying light, she ran her fingers lovingly over the golden script etched into the marble, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore". Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she sank to her knees in the damp grass and whispered, 'I miss you.'

And though there were no answering words of comfort from the cold stone, she heard his voice murmur softly in her head, 'We will meet again… my Minerva.'

_**The End**_

A/N: this didn't turn out at all as I had planned but if stories will insist on writing themselves who am I to argue? This is my first completed fic so try not to flame me too badly – first degree burns only, please! You know what they say, if you can't say nuffin nice at least make it funny. The chocolate incident is taken from 'Nouveau' by Cranky Cauldron and I highly recommend you read it – in fact, (puts on voice of god) I DEMAND IT! 10/9/06

Review Thanks!

CrystalPhoenixEyes – Thank you, being the first fic and all reviews are mucho appreciated.

Dicere – That means a lot, thank you. I might keep some money back just in case I need flame retardant clothing for my next fic! PS – Cranky thinks you're dead…

linZE – Me too. I didn't realise how many post-Albus-Minerva-is-suffering stories there were until after I posted this. Thank you.

OSUSprinks – I suppose if I nearly made you cry something was done right though I'll try not to make a habit of upsetting people! Cheers.

Ceeti – Yes, stole the hot-choc bit from Cranky but she hasn't shot me for it yet. Glad you enjoyed.

SchnugsAllAround – I'm glad that I got across that she'd 'forgotten' he was a portrait before the obvious. Shnanks shoo very much!


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